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Night fell very early now, and though that would usually fill Augusta Elton with regret, leaving her to mourn the loss of her hours spent visiting and the entertainment she found away from the Vicarage, she now greeted the dark evenings with relief. Being in the family way made one feel inelegant and cross and rather constantly queasy. She was glad to stay in just at the moment.
Not that she wasn't busy. Selina was finally, finally deigning to visit Highbury (though, Augusta thought sourly, she was not staying for Christmas) and there was much to do to prepare the place for their guests' arrival. It was a good thing that her dear Mr. E. could engage competent servants. She would not have been able to handle the workload without help, not in her condition.
It would be good to see Selina again, after so long a separation (she would not even mention to her sister that it had been entirely in the Sucklings’ power to shorten the time apart; Augusta was nothing if not gracious). They would ride through Highbury in style, the glamorous former Hawkins girls, reveling in their air of great fashion and the envy they inspired. Augusta would wear her fur tippet and carry her muff to fight the chill, and hope that the whole village saw her in all of her glory.
She drifted off to sleep with a smile on her face, visions of the barouche-landau dancing in her head.
***
Robert Martin brushed the snow off of the shoulders of his coat, yearning for a roaring fire and the comfort of sitting beside it with Harriet after a long day of work. His mother and sisters had retired early that evening, and though it was blatantly artful on all of their parts, an obvious wish to give him some time alone with Harriet, he was grateful for their thoughtfulness and didn't mind their lack of subtlety. He loved his family, but he was craving a quiet moment with his wife. Harriet had told him she must speak to him, and though he had his hopes as to the subject, he dared not dream until she confirmed his suspicions.
She was at work when he joined her in the parlor, making a cap-- an especially tiny one. His eyes snapped up to her face and she smiled widely, cheeks flushed pink, eyes glowing. He took her hands, his heart soaring, not even needing to hear the words.
***
The snow was beginning to blanket the lawn at Enscombe and Jane Churchill was stuck in bed with a cold. She and Frank had planned to attend a dinner party together at some rich friend of his uncle's that evening, but Jane, of course, would now have to remain here instead, wrapped in blankets and shivering, her head aching and her nose running, coughing every time she breathed too deeply. She supposed that her husband, undeterred by minor illness, was getting ready now. She settled grumpily back on her pillow.
"How are you feeling?" Frank peeked his head in to check on her, looking as healthy and handsome as ever. Jane sniffed pitifully. He gave her a sympathetic smile and walked in to sit at the edge of her bed. He was not, as she'd imagined, in his evening clothes, but still dressed as she had seen him that morning.
"You will be late for the Stevensons, if you do not get ready soon," she said, trying not to sound miserable and cross.
"I will not be going," he said, waving a careless hand, "not when you are ill."
"Do not be ridiculous," said Jane, irritable and guilty now that he was sacrificing his plans for her sake. "You will offend them, and your uncle."
"Then they can be offended," he said, placing a hand on her knee, "for I am not stirring from this house."
"You really should--" Jane began, but Frank cut across her.
"No," he said simply. "Do you need anything? Tea? Something to eat? I could send for the apothecary--"
"I need only to rest," she said. "Truly, Frank, you should go without me."
He ignored her. "I will ring for my own dinner, then. You can eat what you please from my plate, should you change your mind and grow hungry." She must have looked prepared to argue again, for he stopped her before she could start. "The only place I want to be this evening is by your side. There is nothing the Stevensons can offer me that I would be able to enjoy without you."
Jane suddenly felt very warm indeed, despite her illness and the weather outside.
***
Emma looked out of the window, watching the snow fall heavily in the darkness, muffling the already quiet night. She smiled to herself as she remembered the Christmas Eve of a year before, the tiny, anxiety-inducing snow flurry, the absurd proposal from Mr. Elton. What had seemed so important and dire then seemed small and petty now; everyone had ended up happily, despite her best efforts to meddle where she didn’t belong. No lasting harm had been done.
And what a transformation had taken place in her own life! She was actually married - after protesting for years that she was not destined for matrimony - and to Mr. Knightley (she still occasionally thought of him as Mr. Knightley, though she was coming around to George)! Who would have thought?
She smiled at the sound of his approaching footsteps. “It is looking quite treacherous outside.”
"At least your father will not have a reason to fret about the snow tonight."
"He will find one," she said.
He laughed softly, standing behind her to observe just how distressed Mr. Woodhouse would be in the morning. “I wonder if it is snowing this heavily at Donwell.”
"Are you sure that you would not rather be there tonight?" Emma asked. "Now that you have been away for a couple of months, are you certain that you have no regrets about being here ?"
"My dear Emma," he said with the barest hint of asperity, "I am perfectly satisfied at Hartfield, and I do not know how many times I have to--"
"I was merely confirming, George," she said gently.
He put his arms around her and drew her close. Emma leaned into him, happy and content.